Vagabond. Wanderer. Nomad.
You volatile piece of filth.
Torn and wrenched my heart
has been; now it is as lifeless
as what you call a soul.

You hold your head high,
as if you are some mighty king;
as if my once tempted heart
is still compelled to wither
beneath your golden gaze.

As swift as the winds changed
you left on your high horse,
bound for richer temptations.
My heart does not whimper,
though, not in the least.

Carry on in your flighty escapades.
What's lost is gone;
dismal and shielded by pride.
You'll be left with nothing
but that lonesome golden gaze.